


Raven'sNight

by PagetPaulson



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 10:39:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7681123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PagetPaulson/pseuds/PagetPaulson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An agent walks all by himself into a bar. A lonely agent a a popular tender to her customers find a spark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raven'sNight

It had been a while since she'd seen a new face in her bar. Every night the same fellas would come in, sometimes with a girl different than the one they had on their arm the night before, but never did a face from out of town venture into the dark lights of her bar.

 _Raven's Night_ was hidden in the alley off of a D.C street, away from the traffic of the main streets with corporate offices and clothing stores. She hadn't wanted her business to be one of those moderately successful pubs in a city where sometimes they were spoken about in magazines, possibly reporters were outside when a celebrity made a reservation. She wanted none of that.

Her bar was established six years ago, the moody woman trying her best to get away from the memories that haunted her every day. Opening her own business, all the bar owner wanted to do was make people happy with what she could give them. If good music and good beer were all she could give her patrons on a lonely night, then she was ok with that.

When someone wanted a good time to themselves or with a partner they wanted to be intimate with, they knew where to come.

"Come on Em, can I have another?"

Emily Prentiss lifted her head, her hand still spinning in circles as she cleaned off part of her bar counter. "Eddie, you can only take so much."

The blond haired man frowned. "Yeah, I can have one more."

"I don't know," the bartender pretended to think, making her way over to the older man. Holding up her fingers, the dark eyed woman watched him try to figure out how many fingers she was holding up. "How many fingers?"

Not able to figure out the amount, the drunk shook his head and smiled. "For what, darling?"

Emily made a face. "You're done. Pay your tab and I'll get you a taxi, Ed." Walking back over to clean up the tequila a patron had spilled, the bar owner noticed a man she'd never seen before observing the rest of those on the dance floor. His eyes were dark, she could see that form across the room, and even though he did his best to lean back and look relaxed, his shoulders were so tense she was surprised they weren't popping out from underneath his suit jacket.

"Got your eye on someone?"

The brunette shot a grin at the oldest patron she'd ever had, her loyal friend. "Bernie," she tsked, laughing when the man in his glasses laughed, "are you spying on me again?"

Bernie, a sixty-nine year old veteran who came every Friday to escape his wife, lifted his vodka soda to cheers the business owner. "Only always, my lady."

Emily laughed, her eyes drifting back to the newcomer who was slowly making his way toward the bar. He was at least six foot, his dark hair glowing from the dim lights that hung fro the ceiling. His suit was pristine, almost like it was new, but from the way he slouched a little as he walked toward her she could tell he had worked hard all day long.

Sitting down, the unfamiliar man wasn't able to open his mouth before the bartender held up a hand.

"Scotch neat?"

The dark haired man, he looked like a government official by the way he straightened his shoulders and fixed his tie, didn't even nod his head to show she was right. "How did you know?"

Emily stood, gesturing to the bar she stood in. "It's not my first time," she smiled to him, picking up the most expensive scotch they had and pouring him a glass. "Rough day?"

"You could say that?"

The brunette brushed a straightened piece of hair from her eyes, putting the bottle of scotch back on the counter. "Can I get a name?" When he looked back up to her, she smiled, leaning against the bar.

"Aaron," he answered, taking a sip of the drink. "You?"

Bernie looked over to the pair at the other end of the bar. "That's Emily!"

Emily chuckled, nodding back to the older man who made her smile every night she saw him before turning to the newcomer. "I'm Emily," she repeated, smiling up to the older man. "I own the bar. And I don't think I've seen you around," the owner mused, watching as the suited man took a long sip of his scotch. "Are you new to the area?"

"Not at all."

The tone was all Emily needed. "God, how long have you lived here to be so down in the dumps about it? You don't like the city?"

Aaron almost smiled at the younger woman trying to get him to lighten up. "Too long, but I haven't really seen much of it."

"Is that why I haven't seen you before?" She stood up straight again and took the towel she had abandoned to pour her guest a drink. "Stuck in the office all hours of the day?" she questioned, her eyes leaving his to finish cleaning the spilled tequila.

The mysterious man didn't know how much to divulge to the unfamiliar woman. "Something like that."

Emily didn't look up from her task, spraying the wood of her bar counter with her homemade cleaner. "Oh come on, you're not going to tell me more?"

"I don't know if I should."

The brunette frowned, wiping off her hands and picking up the phone to call a cab for Eddie who was now falling asleep over his newspaper. "How about we play a game?" she asked, waiting for the taxi company to pick up. "We'll guess facts about each other, and if I'm wrong then I take a shot and the same goes for you."

Smiling smally for the first time that day, Aaron waited for the younger woman in her black V-neck top to finish her phone call. "You're allowed to drink on the job?"

Emily snorted. "Kind of part of the description." Backing up to the counter behind the bar where she kept her alcohol, she waved her hand in front of the glass bottles. "Vodka, tequila or we can take it easy and do a few shots of beer," she joked.

Aaron slowly shook his head. "I don't think I should."

"Work tomorrow?"

The older man nodded, adjusting his tie once more. "I hope not. We don't really have a set schedule."

Emily grimaced. "We'll do vodka." She took two shot glasses and lined them up on the counter, filling both only half way to make sure they didn't get too drunk too quickly. "Ok, I'll go first." Leaning again on the bar, her arms crossed, the bartender looked deep into those hazel eyes and bit her lip. "Government agent."

The surprise on his face was evidently hard to hide, Aaron noticing the younger woman quickly bursting into laughter. "How did you know that? Are you a psychic?"

"Come on," her voice husked, the brunette grinning to the man across from her. "I've been a bartender for nine years, I've owned this place for six. My job is to read people."

Aaron hesitantly picked up the shot glass, throwing back the clear liquid. "Well," he coughed, putting the glass back down, "so is mine."

Emily narrowed her eyes after she refilled his shot glass, her finger dancing around the rim of her own glass as she countered her next move. "CIA?"

"FBI," he corrected.

The brunette laughed, picking up her own shot glass. "Damn." Tilting her head back Emily let the drink burn as it slid down her throat, and she quickly poured more into the small glass. "Ok, your turn."

Aaron could see those dark eyes dancing before him, the bartender looking away from him for a second to make sure the man she had called a cab for was getting outside safely. "You're a mother," he determined, the _ he saw her watch her patrons with giving it away.

Emily's lips curled into a gentle smile. "I have a son."

"So do I. How old?"

The brunette almost pouted, setting her elbow on the table and putting her chin in the palm of her hand. "He turns three in less than a week," she smiled. "He's at home with my husband."

Aaron's eyes hadn't spotted a ring when they started talking, and he could tell Emily was putting the pieces together.

"I don't wear my ring to work," she spoke up, "just in case it catches someone's eye."

"And what does your husband do?"

Emily smirked, taking a lemon from the little fruit holder next to her bottles of vodka and peeled the small fruit slices from the rhine. "You tell me."

The FBI agent could feel himself becoming lighter as the alcohol went from his stomach and rushed that easy feeling up to his head. "I'd say your husband is at least six feet tall with eyes like yours," he said slowly, watching as her dark orbs widened. "Police officer?"

The mother made it a point to look away from the older man as she stood up. "God, what the hell is your position in the FBI?" she chuckled quietly, a little scared from how quickly he read her. "He just got promoted," the bartender acknowledged.

Aaron smirked. "At least I don't have to drink."

"I might," the younger woman laughed, sharing a smile with her new friend.

"Emily!"

Both heads turned to see a younger couple stumbling slightly up to where they were. Emily stood straight, offering up two beers for the newly twenty-one year olds. "Katie, you still have this leech huh?" She smiled, high fiving the younger girl who came to her bar almost every week after her twenty-first birthday. "How are you two?"

"Tired," the blond girl complained. "I just finished my second final and I totally flunked it."

Emily grimaced, knowing how hard the girl had studied. "Can you retake it?"

"Next semester."

After the couple introduced themselves to the agent at the bar, they were off to their own private booth. "She's a sweetheart," Emily smiled softly, watching as the college girl cuddled into her boyfriend's side. "I caught her with a fake last year and she begged me not to call the cops, and the next day she came in to thank me with a bouquet of flowers."

Aaron could see the look of content on the bar owner's face as she wiped a glass clean. He had wanted to be able to feel as light as he did while talking to her for years, to be able to feel like himself outside of work.

"Aaron? Are you ok?"

The FBI agent moved his eyes to hers, slowly nodding his head. "I think I should get home."

Emily took a twenty from Bernie as he left. "Your wife waiting for you?" she asked almost hopefully, noticing the somber look that Aaron had come in with returning.

Aaron cast a look down toward his briefcase, the divorce papers sitting underneath a new case file. "Not for long."

The bartender's face fell. She watched as the older man set his glass to the bar and took out his wallet to pay for his drinks. "Don't," she rushed out, putting her hand to his to stop him from slipping his cash out.

"I can't steal drinks from you," he chuckled sadly.

Emily smiled. "It's on me." Taking her full glass, she shot it back. Hissing, the bartender shook her head. "That last one was my own fault," she joked. Her eyes met his as she put the glasses in the sink. "How about you come back tomorrow and we can play again?"

Aaron shook his head. "Maybe Sunday?" he asked tentatively. "I think I need to say goodbye to my son."

She could see the hurt pouring through those chestnut eyes. "Well I'm here every day, so." She let her fingers roam gently around where her wedding ring would be once she got back home and felt a loneliness bleed into her heart. "Goodbye Aaron."

"Goodbye Emily," he almost whispered before walking back across the dance floor to get to the door. Walking out into the cold D.C air, Aaron felt his chest tighten and his hand clench around his briefcase handle. The agent gently slipped into his car, not waiting even a second before he slipped the papers from their envelope and took out a pen.


End file.
